Since reflections are big where I am a practicum student, and now with me, I have been thinking about posting one since the prompt came up on Twitter a few days ago.  I was 14 on 9.11.2001 and I had just moved away from home to attend an ski academy in Maine. I watched the second tower get hit on tv with the headmaster and my teammates after a morning workout, and I was shocked. It was not until noon or even later that my mom was able to get a call into the school, and told me she had been trying for hours to reach me, and her brother — the phone lines were too tied up to get a call through from Boston. At that point I was terrified, and even though had picked fights with my parents to try to make the separation easier, was as homesick as I could imagine.

I tried not to think about this whole scene all that often. Each year it comes back into my mind, and I think for a while and push it away- move on with my life, embracing the day. I remember life is short. Things were not always perfect, I still had fights with my parents, I moved back home my junior year of high school, and graduated in June 2005. That September I moved away to college and had a difficult time transitioning. The fear of not being able to reach my parents was real, and suddenly things came back to me again. Years continued to go by, I developed friendships with cadets at the United States Military Academy at West Point. I reflected upon how I never thought as a child that I would grow up knowing what it would be like for America to be attacked, for there to be a recession and a war. These were all things I had read about and was now living. I’ve decided to try to take in every moment. At 14 I did not realize how short life could be.

As I sit here, 10 years later, a graduate student in my last year of my HESA program, I think. In fact, I haven’t stopped thinking since September 1st about this day and how I would feel. I realize that it is important to go out each day with a smile, tell my family I love them, and really make sure the work I do each day within the field is good work. I wasn’t on a college campus 10 years ago, but I was at a boarding school, and know what it feels like to be away from home during such an event. Since then I have not questioned being an American, (which I did when I was younger due to being an Irish National as well) and pay more attention to what is going on in the world. I don’t think I have necessarily thought about how I have changed until I read this blog post. I accepted the challenge, and as I drove back to my apartment from my parent’s house, I had the following thoughts:

1. Community is important- communities come together in the good times, and the bad, and as I work in student affairs, with the desire to go into residence life after graduation, building a good community is something I need to do.

2. Tragic events are processed by everyone differently, being able to recognize that is crucial. I have made sure to keep an open mind to how people react to the news and the ongoing fear that there will be another attack.

3. I am thankful each day for my friends and the countless men and women who are currently serving and deployed.

4. It is important not to generalize. The actions of a few people do not mean that everyone who looks like those people, or who comes from the same area is the same. Expanding my multicultural competencies is an ongoing goal of mine.

5. September 11, 2001 was a terrible day- so was December 7, 1941- we need to not forget our America’s history even though we were not necessarily alive for it.

I never thought I would be a graduate student when I was 14. I hadn’t even thought about college yet, and as I sit here recounting that day, and where I have come I have remember life is a journey. This day 10 years ago was clearly a big bump in everyone’s journey, and changed everything as I knew them. I feel fortunate that I have had the chance to reflect on this, and had the courage to post my feelings and thoughts. To me, reflection encourages growth and development, and even though I have grown a lot since I was 14, there is still more to go. With that, I say, carpe diem- seize the day, life is unknown, and uncertain, but we should try to make the best of everyday.

Beth Solomon is a second-year graduate student at Salem State University.

Relationships are built on the number of emotionally charged shared experiences between individuals. 9/11 was a huge emotionally charged shared experience for America. The experience started on 9/11/01 and lasted for weeks and months afterwards. It seemed like all of America opted to put down their differences and pause to love their neighbor. It was unreal and amazing, but I missed it all.

I was studying at the Goethe Institute in Berlin, Germany during the Fall of 2001. Berlin is six hours ahead of New York City. When the first plane hit the North Tower at 8:45 a.m. EST, it was 2:45 p.m. in Berlin. I just got home from school and sat down to watch the BBC. I didn’t have a computer then, so the BBC was my only source of information. A few moments later, my parents in Chicago called. We cried on the phone together. Then I hung up and I sat alone in my apartment. My girlfriend, now my wife, called and we talked. We cried. Then I hung up and watched the BBC for the next 12 hours. I didn’t sleep because I couldn’t sleep. My parents called a few more times and we talked and cried. Then I was alone again. I wanted to so desperately talk to someone, a fellow American face-to-face. But I sat in my apartment and watched BBC. Too shocked to move.

The next day I went to class and everyone’s face was ingrained with hours of crying from the night before. We broke our “German Only” rule to vent with one another even though most of the class weren’t native English speakers. It helped. It made me feel like I was home. We cried some more. It was sad. The next day, one of the other Americans in the class decided to end her trip early and fly back home to Texas to be with her family. I stayed.

The next couple weeks I read, heard, and watched more and more stories of massive vigils and gatherings happening around the U.S. It was as if America was one big family and though we had our differences, it didn’t matter. Every house flew an American flag. The pictures were amazing. The videos were amazing. The stories were amazing. I spent hours at the internet cafe absorbing as much as I could.

I stayed in Berlin through the New Year for my class. By the time I flew back to Chicago, the emotionally charged shared experience of 9/11 was mostly faded. People were getting back to their routine. There were no more group vigils and the number of flying American flags went down.

My wife does her best to try and explain what it was like the days, weeks and months after 9/11, but explaining it is secondary to actually being there. It’s as if I went to the bathroom during the critical part of a movie and have to keep asking people what happened. But unlike a movie, I can’t rewind 9/11. I forever have to experience it through the lens of other people.

I have my story, but it’s not the same emotionally charged shared story as the rest of the country, so I still cling to every new story I hear as if somehow it’ll help me piece together what it was really like to be here, in America, with fellow Americans.

Now that the dust has settled, a college senior is still waking up this morning with a wish that her parents could come to her graduation. A ten year old boy is trying to understand why he never got the opportunity to know his father. There is a mom out there who still has a lasting memory of her daughter trying to frantically get out of her building and all of a sudden…. phone is dead. Both a husband and a wife have a lasting memory of sending their loved ones to work not knowing it would be the last time they would see them. There are a thousand stories. None of them have a happy ending.

Now that the dust has settled there are a number of people who will come to terms with feelings they have been holding onto for almost ten years. Where does the blame go? Where does the anger go? Now that the target for their painful memories no longer exists how do they move forward? As they sit and watch people celebrate and sometimes trivialize the situation by throwing parties and running up and down the street hollering USA! USA! USA!; Where is their comfort? Where is their victory?

Now that the dust has settled you still have to face the day. You still have to face the lost memories and the missed chances. Children still sit helplessly as they watch one or both of their parents lace up their boots and leave for war. The pain that was caused on 9/11 still exists in a perpetual cycle. One man, though he was the face of the organization, does not slow this process or bring us closer to peace. One man, though his death provides some level of comfort, does not fill the void that still remains. One man, whose leadership was used to inspire great evil, stole from you the very thing that many hold dear; The future. The steady hopes and dreams of many left that day to never return.

Now that the dust has settled, where do we go now? The hangover of the emotions will slowly settle in and the decision to move forward will be at our doorstep. The baggage that we have carried will have to be laid down. Our collective will have to begin to focus on healing. How do we raise the towers again both literally and figuratively? A nation that has lived in fear for the the last ten years must now rise from its diminished state. It must stand proud again. I heard a beautiful story last night. A man was on a flight. As the news broke that Osama Bin Laden had been killed there was a loud cheer. Everyone began to celebrate. As people left their own bubble of joy, alone sat a woman who was in tears. She was turned into a widow 10 years ago. The entire flight stopped their celebration to tend to this woman, to comfort her, to let her know that it was ok, to let her know that while we do not completely understand your pain this moment; We are here for you.

Now that the dust has settled, the I must become the We. For all of you deeply impacted by the events of ten years ago, I am here for you. I stand in reverence of your loss and I pray that last night represented a step towards your healing. For those of you who serve, are the parents of someone who serves, or are the children of a soldier; I stand on awe of your sacrifice, commitment, and duty.

God Bless

- Faith is like any other tool, If you do not use it you lose it.

Nate Johnson is the Assistant Director for Residential Life at the University of Miami. 

Ten years ago, I was just a kid. I’m part of unique group of students who were in their first year of college on September 11. Just two weeks into college, I was still getting to know my roommate, trying to figure out classes, and falling in love with my new home at Wittenberg University in Springfield, Ohio.

On Tuesday, September 11, 2001, as planes were hijacked, I was fast asleep. My only class of the day was at 2pm so I planned to sleep until my roommate returned from her class around 11:30 and then we were going to lunch. That morning, I awoke a few minutes before 10am. I leaned over, grabbed my remote and turned on The Today Show. The first image I saw was the towers on fire. I was half awake and confused. Why was The World Trade Center on fire?  Matt Lauer sounded really concerned, so I concluded it had to be for real. I’d had the TV on for maybe only a couple minutes when the first tower collapsed.

As I said, it was 2 weeks into school. So what was my reaction? I knocked on my RAs door. Actually, I banged on her door. I told her she should turn on the TV, that something was going on in New York. Then I walked down the hall, looking for anyone I could sit with and watch this. I was scared and I didn’t want to be alone. I found Susan Buckenmeyer (now a Student Org Policy Advisor at UT-Austin), eyes glued to the tv and we watched the second tower fall.

Our next thought, check our email from something from Wittenberg. The campus wide email explained that classes would be canceled and there would be a gathering in the chapel to pray and discuss what was going on.

The Wittenberg Chapel holds somewhere close to 2,000 people and it was full to capacity with students and staff. A few staff members and the university pastors discussed what happened for the people who’d been in class all morning and then we prayed for those stuck, for those who had died and for those trying to keep more people from dying. The rest of the day to me is a bit of a blur. There were talks that Wright Patterson Air Force Base might be attacked. There were talks that we would be at war the next week somewhere in the Middle East. But mostly, we just sat, talked, and wondered how it all had happened.

That evening is my clearest image of the day. A group of floormates and I went to grab dinner. About half way to the dining hall, we heard a plane. We all stopped mid step as did other folks in the street and looked up for what plane got clearance to fly that day. First we saw one F-16 fighter jet, then 2 more, then Air Force One, then 3 more fighter jet flying east. It ironically made me feel safer, like some important people were flying back to Washington to try and keep us safe.

Six months later, I was on my first Choir Tour which took us to Pennsylvania, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, New Jersey, and New York. We arrived in New York City on the 6 month anniversary of 9/11. Our choir director, Dr. Busarow was dead set on us singing something in St. Patrick’s Cathedral even though we hadn’t called ahead to get approval to sing there.  Dr. B asked someone working in the Cathedral if we could sing and that person got a manager who promptly told us no.  Dr B, being the strong-willed man he is, had us line up anyway in the back of the Cathedral.  We began singing the most beautiful hymn styled version of the Star Spangled Banner that can still bring tears to my eyes to this day. People stopped their touring to listen to us sing as our 50 voices echoed of the walls of one of the most iconic churches in the country.  That evening, we were across the river in New Jersey hearing from teachers about the school children they stood in the street with watching the scene across the river. I can still see some of those faces in the crowd that night who cried as we sang the Star Spangled Banner. And the next day our bus driver dropped us along the back side of the World Trade Center, where the workers were entering to continue clearing out the rubble. I walked with a small group of friends along the memorials set up with pictures of loved ones and police and fire department patches sent from across the United States.

About a year later, on Wednesday March 19, 2003, I was again traveling with the Wittenberg Choir for our performance in the Columbus, Ohio area.  After the show, we boarded the bus to find our driver fixed on the radio.  As we drove home, we heard President Bush explaining the war in Iraq was already started. Dr B was silent and sat in the front of the bus just shaking his head.  I never asked, but I imagine he was thinking about the wars he’d seen in his life, knowing what we were getting ourselves into as a country.

Overall, when I look back at my memories of those days, they are all connected to my time at Wittenberg.  I also realize how much it shaped me. In some respects, i think it was part of why I decided to go into Student Affairs; it rose out of my desire to help students thorough the difficult events that occur while they are in college. And as I think about my students some of whom were as young as 7 on 9/11, I wonder how much they remember from those days. Most of their teachers wouldn’t have shown the coverage at school and I’m sure their parents shielded them slightly from the night and day coverage on TV. In the future, I hope we will start to add 9/11 to history classes to students can learn more about it than just headlines or Wikipedia articles. I hope we keep telling our stories of that day no matter how far we were from New York City on that day. Most of all, I hope we never forget.

Amber Sibley is the Assistant Director for Programming at the University of Dayton. 

On September 11, 2001, I was only 6 weeks into a new job at Merrimack College, a small Catholic, Augustinian school up in North Andover, Massachusetts. I remember how perfect the day started… how crystal clear the sky was. Blue as blue can be. Not a single cloud in the sky. It was probably a little after 9 a.m. when I got to the campus center. I was just behind a couple of my colleagues and simply said “Good morning,” to which they replied, “What’s so good about it?” I still didn’t really know people yet, so I wasn’t sure if they were being sarcastic or just having a bad day, so I inquired further. “The World Trade Center was hit by a plane!” they replied. I blurted out, “My dad works there!” and began running for the first TV that I could find. I got to the main floor and there were dozens of people watching TVs in the food court. Strangely, I had just walked by a couple of minutes earlier and hadn’t noticed what was going on. Now I’m sitting there with everyone else in complete disbelief.

I remember trying to call anyone I could… but all I got was busy signals. The only person I spoke to that morning was my sister in California, but other than e-mail I remember using ICQ, which was like instant messenger, to communicate with others.

My dad worked for Washington Group International, an engineering company in the south tower, on the 91st floor – the second tower to be hit but the first to fall. On two counts, my dad wasn’t supposed to be there. For one, his area was relocated to Princeton, NJ, but he didn’t want the lengthy commute from our home on Long Island, nor did my parents want to move. Great Neck had been our home since I was 6. Secondly and most ironically, he was supposed to be in the Middle East, of all places, on business but his trip was cancelled.

When the south tower fell at 9:59 a.m. I remember being overwhelmed with grief. I don’t know where I intended to go, but I just ran. Before I could get too far, someone grabbed me and brought me to the chapel. Although it took me a while to realize it, that was the first act of kindness someone did for me that day. They saw I was in distress and they grabbed me.

The 2nd act of kindness took place later that evening. I decided to drive to a friends’ place in CT as I wasn’t sure I could drive all the way to Long Island. I remember being asked if I wanted company, but told my colleagues that I’d be okay. As I’m packing up my things, I get a knock on the door from 3 students from a fraternity that I advised, insisting on coming along with me. “Fred, we’re not taking no for an answer. We’re going with you.” The semester had just started and these students who had just met me offered to make sure I got there safely.

The next morning, I continued to Long Island. I intentionally drove over the Whitestone Bridge so I could get the closest view of the skyline. I remember how empty the roads were that morning. Not just on the highways coming down, but approaching and crossing the bridge, there was NO ONE on the road. I felt like I was in a movie. Something like “Mad Max” or “I Am Legend.”

When I finally got home to see my mom, I tried to reassure her but she was already convinced my dad was gone. My two younger brothers, who were living at home at the time, were there. My sister, because flights were grounded, was driving across country with my uncle in a rental car; it would take her another 3 or 4 days before she arrived.

Like many other families, we made up a flyer and organized a search. Maybe he was buried under some debris? Maybe he simply couldn’t get in touch with us? Maybe he was injured and walking the city aimlessly? We just put our faith in God and hoped and believed he was out there somewhere. My brother’s friends were at the house and without hesitation took it upon themselves to blanket the city with flyers, posting them in hospitals, police stations, and just about anywhere and everywhere they could. I didn’t always like my brother’s friends, but I remember how differently I felt about them at that moment. This was the 3rd act of kindness.

With every passing hour, day, and week, we came to the realization that my dad was really gone. I’m not sure how or when we made the decision, but about 3 weeks after 9/11, we held a memorial service for him. I remember how much life there was in the Church on that rainy day. Our Church and it’s congregation was very old, so there were never more than 2 or 3 dozen people there on Sundays, but on that day the Church was packed; the pews were filled and there were even people standing in the balcony. There was even a group from Merrimack, who only knew me for a few weeks. It was an amazing sight to see so much life in our Church and all of the people my dad had affected. Yet another act of kindness.

They never found my dad or anything that belonged to him, except for part of an old, charred, employee badge. So there was no casket at the service, just a large photo of him on an easel. We have a cemetery plot in town, but nothing physical there other than a headstone. I have since gone there to speak with him, but I feel closest to him when I’m at Church or when I’m at Ground Zero.
I made it through most of the academic year, but by April my emotions finally caught up with me and I came to the realization that I wanted to go home. Once again, the Merrimack community was there to support me and let me go until I was ready to come back – no expectations, no questions asked. Once again, another act of kindness.

After a few weeks at home, I decided I needed to be closer to my family, which is how I ended up here at Fairfield. Geographically, it made sense, but there was something else going on. The strong sense of care and community – those many acts of kindness on 9/11 and the months thereafter – I was beginning to experience what the Jesuit principle of men and women for others was all about. It wasn’t just at Fairfield or at Merrimack where this shift was taking place – it really was everywhere. Yes, there was a heightened sense of patriotism after 9/11, but there was also this heightened feeling that we were all in this together. No matter who you were or where you came from, there was a common sense of decency between others – and not just because you had a connection to 9/11. It would be at the grocery store, the mall, or just walking down the street. People just seemed nicer to one another. Looking back on 10 years, that’s the feeling that I fear we’re losing … that feeling that we’re all Men and Women for Others.

What I Miss…

I’m sure this may sound odd, but it many ways, I consider myself lucky or even blessed. As I said earlier, not a day goes by that I don’t miss my dad, but I had 29 years with him. I still think about all the young kids who lost their mom or dad on 9/11 and how they never got the chance to experience all the things that I was able to share with him during that time. He got to experience little league, boy scouts, piano lessons, summer vacations to Florida & Canada, and not to mention all the C’s on my transcripts. He got to see his four kids graduate from college and find jobs. He got to see us get to the point in our lives that he knew we’d be okay. However, it just felt as though we were just getting to the really good stuff because my siblings and I were now all adults and had lives of our own.

So much has happened over the past 10 years, I just wish he could have been a part of it. I know he and my wife Cristina would have gotten along so well together. I’m sure he would have also really enjoyed her family because they are so much like my family before 9/11. I imagine him and Cristina’s dad in particular really getting along – two hard-working, self-taught, handymen. I would never have to lift a finger for any home improvement jobs in our house!

But it wasn’t until I became a parent myself that I began missing him the most. Often times, I look at my son and think about what a wonderful grandfather he would have been to him. He was a great dad, but I know he would have been an even better “Lolo” to my son Lucas and his cousins.

Years ago, I told myself if I ever had I son, I would never name him Fred. Too much pressure. Growing up, I always felt as though I had to live up to my dad and my grandfather because we shared a name. I didn’t want that for my son. But after my dad died and then a few years later, my grandfather, it felt strange being the only Fred Kuo. I was used to there being three of us and it felt odd being the only one. So Lucas is actually my son’s middle name; his first name is Frederick.

What I Will Never Forget…

I can’t believe that this Sunday will mean that my dad has been gone for 10 years. I’m 39 and it makes no sense to me that my dad has been a gone for nearly a quarter of my life. At times, it feels like he was just here, and other times I worry that I’m beginning to forget him. So although I know doing things such writing this reflection can make me emotional, I do it because it helps me remember. I do it because I don’t want to forget.

I also do it because of our students. Working in a college setting, I often forget that I’m getting older because our students never age. They’re perpetually 18-22 years old. 10 years ago, our freshman class was 8. How do you talk about 9/11 through the eyes of an 8 year old?

By the 15th anniversary, our students will have no recollection of the actual day. They will only know what they see on TV, in books, on the internet, or what they hear from others. With every anniversary, how we engage our students about 9/11 becomes that much more important.

For me the 10th anniversary isn’t just about remembering my dad, or the 3,000+ people who died on that day. It also serves as a reminder about the responsibilities that we have to those around us today… that we should all remember to be men and women for others every single day.

So when I think back on September 11, 2001…

I’ll never forget the person who grabbed me and brought me to the chapel.

I’ll never forget my 3 students who wouldn’t take no for an answer and drove me to Connecticut.

I’ll never forget how the Merrimack College community supported me, even though they barely knew me.

I’ll never forget my brothers’ friends blanketing the city with flyers.

I’ll never forget the overwhelming energy in our Church during my dad’s memorial.

I’ll never forget how I came to Fairfield and how this community continues to support me.

I’ll never forget how ‘different’ things felt between people in the wake of 9/11.

I’ll never forget…

Fred Kuo is the Associate Director of University Activities at Fairfield University. 

We were asked to be “around and helpful” to students that day.  So, as Chris Conzen wrote, it was time to get to work. The resident directors were in the residence halls and my student involvement colleagues and student affairs staff were in the cafeterias and in the campus center.  We were there, present, talking and connecting with some students we knew and others we didn’t.  Nobody told us what to do specifically or how long to do it for, but it just happened.  I remember looking at the clock and seeing that it was time to leave work for the day.  Do you leave? Stay? Shouldn’t there be some direction?  We were doing what comes naturally to student affairs professionals.  No theory, vector, or CAS standard had to be consulted to know what to do that day.

That day was so profound, but the time on campus afterward was just as profound for me.  My office had our Student Involvement Fair scheduled for 9/12.  Should I keep the event?  Cancel it?  We ended up keeping the event because we knew the community needed to gather that day. It was, as expected, nothing remotely focused on involvement in student organizations.  It ended up, however, being squarely illustrative of the power that student groups affiliations have to unify, comfort and empower a community.

Much of my time in the two weeks following 9-11 was spent working with groups to organize fundraisers and awareness campaigns.  I vividly remember a meeting with student leaders from a range of organizations who “just wanted to do something.”  I knew our university was going to do something, but it wasn’t evolving fast enough for motivated students who wanted to help. It was also the beginning of the semester and filled with the usual opening craziness.

We spent a serious amount of time working on a number of projects from that point on and it was a great lesson to me in not just the value of the products of our work but the process as well. Helping students to harness their grief and disbelief over the events toward some productive and helpful end still remains one of the most rewarding memories of my career. Those ribbon campaigns were a grieving process for the community and I wouldn’t have changed a minute of how I spent my time.  It helped them and it helped me.

My most powerful memories related to 9-11-01 will always be of what an empowering and supportive environment a college campus can be when a community needs to pull together.

College campuses are really, truly, special places,

Later on, I would discover that a grade school friend had perished when one of the towers fell.  Allison, if there are blogs in the great beyond, you will never be forgotten.

Cindy Kane is the Director of Student Involvement and Leadership at Bridgewater State University. 

To my beloved girls,

I am writing you this letter because when you were born, you already lived in a post 9/11 world. I am writing because you will ask me where I was when the Towers fell, just as I have asked my parents where they were when Kennedy was shot. You will ask where I was, since we ask for location and context in a feeble attempt to understand the emotion and meaning of the event.

On the morning of September 11, 2001, I left Akers Hall, where your father and I lived for my job as a hall director during graduate school at Michigan State, and I headed to my practicum in the College of Communication Arts & Sciences. That practicum would turn into a full time position after my graduation, which means on this 10^th anniversary, I am sitting in the same rooms and walking the same hallway I did that day.

On that morning, I was in a meeting with my director and the assistant dean, planning a career fair, when the office assistant came into the room and told us, “Something’s happening in New York City. You better turn on the TV.” It didn’t matter the channel, since every channel was showing the two towers billowing smoke.  I can’t possibly explain the emotion, the disbelief, the general feeling we all had that were watching some kind of bad movie. The next hour was filled with phone calls and check ins. All of this was prior to many of us having cell phones. Your Uncle Cory somehow tracked me down at my practicum to see if I had heard about Aunt Debbie (your grandmother’s twin sister) who worked in downtown Manhattan. I talked with my complex director to see if we heard from our former graduate student, whose husband worked in the Pentagon, and I talked with your father to learn that your great aunt and uncle lived only an exit away from the crash in Pennsylvania. It is a blur, but all were safe.

My director and I had to head to a meeting of all of the associate deans across campus. I remember walking into the Board Room in the Administration Building, with its huge conference table that seats fifty. Both of the projector screens were down, and CNN was being broadcast. There was just so much smoke. Then the Associate Provost for Undergraduate Education started the meeting, and I saw a huge, research university move. Updates on students who were abroad. Check-ins with students from the NYC and DC area. Communication that would be sent to faculty. Counseling services that needed to be in place.  As a graduate student, I was watching the university respond to a worst case scenario that no one could have possible imagined.

Later that evening, I would sit in the residence hall dining room with about half of my hall, glued to Peter Jennings on the big screen TV. We didn’t want to leave. We wanted to me with other people. My office was a perpetual lounge for the next three days, as I doled out boxes of Kleenex to my residents contending with their emotions on their own timeline.

I tell you all of this because you live in a different world that I grew up in, much of which is different because of what happened that day. My wish for you is this:

I hope you never experience the terror of that day. I hope you never see the hatred in people that made someone hurt other people in such a horrifying way that day. I hope you never feel the suspicious stares that many felt following that day, simply because their skin was darker or their religion was not Christianity.

I hope you feel the love that people had for each other after that day. I hope you feel the catch in your throat when you hear the National Anthem or see an American flag that I did after that day. I hope you still dream for a peaceful world and know that it is possible because you hear stories of everyday heroes from that day.

I cannot possibly imagine a September 11^th where I do not feel the emotions as raw as they were on that day, but I promise that I will do my very best to ensure that you never forget the joy and love and humanity that September 11^th uncovered.

With all my love,

Mom

Niki Rudolph is the Assistant Director of Academic & Student Affairs in the College of Communication Arts and Sciences at Michigan State University. 

Inspired by others, I write this piece to offer my perspective on how September 11, 2011 impacted me. To share my story.

In the morning on September 11, 2001, I can remember the exact place I was when I started hearing rumors circulating that there was an attack on the World Trade Centers. Of course, we didn’t know or think it was an attack at that moment. I was sitting in my high school pre-calculus class. It was my junior year and I was 16, two months away from being 17 and having my full licence to start my independence. College was a secondary thought as I was more concerned about getting a girlfriend and our next football game then what was down the pipeline.

People were whispering what they had heard and even then the full scope was never revealed. We didn’t have much connection to the outside world, there were no smartphones, no social media, and the internet was limited to a few rooms with computers and even if we did find one CNN wouldn’t load and the internet was at a crawl. Our teachers remained calm but they were as worried as us. They tried to teach their subjects, to keep our minds off what was circulating around the school.

We had heard that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center. Now this had not been the first time a plane had crashed into a building I had heard of but I had always seen the small propeller planes hit a house or even the White House. However, I never had thought of this. As we started to get more details, they came in through whispers. Most of us didn’t have cell phones and had to use the one pay phone in the school to call out.

I remember trying to pay attention in class but was wondering what had happened. Later that day, all after school activities were cancelled and I finally got through to my parents to arrange a pick up. Details were still short coming when I could get through with all of the phone traffic due to my proximity to the city but I remember my mother telling me that there the towers had been hit and there were dozens of flights unaccounted for and that Washington, D.C. may have been hit. I remember seeing people crying in the hallways, falling down out of worry if one or both of their parents were in the blast. People were missing and no one knew where they were. It was a scary time.

After I finally got home later that day, all I remember is sitting down in front of the TV with my family and watching. Peter Jennings talked about the events of the day and recapped at points unable to keep even his solid composure. The video was jarring as you saw a passenger jet hit the towers. Still to this day, I get goosebumps thinking about it.

I would also find out that relatives of my friends and classmates were safe. Some of these individuals normally worked on the floors impacted by the explosions but they were running late. They missed their train or slept through their alarm. Others were not so fortunate. My former guidance counselor, one who had impacted me positively, lost her husband in the aftermath. She had just left her position at the school and given birth to their child. Looking back, I didn’t quite understand the impact but now I couldn’t imagine such a situation happening to my soon to be family.

Looking back, I don’t know how exactly it impacted me. I was not in college yet, so I had no idea that I wanted to help people, I had no idea what Student Affairs was. However, thinking back this was a time when I wanted to help someone as I saw those first responded and random people helping others stand up and get out. Ten years later, as I am 3 months into my first full time Student Affairs Professional position, I look back and remember every day that someone can make a difference and can be strong for others as all of the firefighters, police, port authority workers, volunteers and the passengers of flight 93. Not everyone can be a hero but everyone can do something for the greater good. Many people lost their lives that day but they made us all proud to be Americans and gave us something to keep in our mind: Hope. That hope drives me every day and drives to me helping others.

Gary Honickel is a Residential Life Coordinator at the University of Texas at Dallas. 

The silence, itself, was the most noticeable.  In the days after the attacks, there was a ban on commercial air traffic. The campus where I worked was under a well-used flight path for these planes, and for the better part of a week, we had no jumbo jet flyovers.  Where I had become used to having to talk over/wait for plane noise to subside during conversations, I no longer had to do so.

My students were often silent. Silent because they didn’t know what to say. Silent because they were too distraught to say anything. Silent because they didn’t want to seem aloof or unconcerned by discussing less pertinent or more trivial matters.

Noise became an issue over time. As the initial shock of the attacks wore off, commentary from all sides – educated or not; partisan or not; relevant or not – seemed to flood the airwaves and the conversations on campus. Students at least appeared to be more engaged in activity and involved in the discussions in the halls and lobbies of my buildings. Quiet hours were stretched because of the need for students to discuss, react, de-stress, and manage their emotions after classes were over.

To me, the juxtaposition of silence and noise is important. The attacks silenced over 3,000 people in explosions and crashes that could be heard for miles and felt – literally and figuratively – around the world.  They resulted in first a silence of disbelief followed by a cacophony of voices standing in unity for the victims and divided about what ought to happen as a result.

The large-scale remembrances and vigils held across the country were held in small scale on my campus. There were songs and speeches followed by periods of quiet reflection.  Rallies and retreats. Noise and silence.

Even today, ten years later, I often find myself in silence trying to discern from the noise the best course of action – for me, for my family, for my country.  I’ve come to believe that both silence and noise are necessary components, but it took 9/11 to help me realize it.

Matthew Pistilli is a Research Associate for Information Technology at Purdue Academic Technologies at Purdue University.

I arrived in India a little more than a month before September 11, 2001, ready to explore the country and learn more about Hinduism and Indian culture. Before I had left the US I talked with my family about all the “what ifs”… Should I be notified if a family member should get sick? What if someone should die; how would I get home? We discussed, briefly, what would be done if something should happen to me and I transferred power of attorney just in case. However, we didn’t discuss a national tragedy and how that may affect me during my year abroad.

Although shaken up while watching the BBC coverage, I didn’t start to panic until I saw the ticker with the information: “Plane Crashes Outside of Pittsburgh”. Being from outside the city, the newscast started to become much more real. The next few hours seemed like years as I tried to get in contact with family through international phone lines. I rode my cycle to multiple phone booths in town, escorted by my 12 year old host brother who acted as my chaperone at night. After 2 hours of lost calls and dead phone lines, I eventually reached my family who were safe, shocked, and an 11.5 hour time difference away.

Experiencing 9/11 was difficult; figuring out how to proceed and process 9/12 and beyond was even more confusing. The first few days consisted of separation and reflection with the other American students and our director. We tried to process what happened in our home country, comfort each other through own our tears, and wondered what could happen next. There wasn’t a lot of contact with family members or people from the states, but the BBC newscasts and the local and regional newspaper coverage supplied us with images and stories that others back home were experiencing.

Because details about the attack were vague and speculative, many of the students in the program didn’t know if presenting ourselves as Americans in a foreign country was the best idea. We tried our best to hide our “Americanness” and told strangers that we were from Canada. That plan quickly failed when we realized we didn’t have other details about Canadians that would make us believable other than some interesting fake accents. We’d continue to see gruesome images on TV and in newspapers, as Indian media coverage censored much less than I’d been used to. We saw people jumping out of buildings and others crushed by rubble; images that were disturbing, sad, and unexplainable. In temple stall shops I even saw tailored shirts with the design of the twin towers and planes approaching being sold. Although I was initially disgusted and offended, it was explained that the shirts were made to connect the public with what was happening. Seeing 9/11 from an outsider’s perspective for some was like watching an action movie and having images from the scenes on everyday items helped people feel even more a part of the show.

When I returned to the US in May 2002 I could feel that not only had I undergone significant transformation and growth, but the country had as well. From being selected for a random search on the flight home while in my sari to seeing the largest concentrated mass of American flags in my life, it was clear that things weren’t how I left them. In addition, everyone I talked with seemed to have shared a common experience by living through and during 9/11 in the US. However due to my adventure half way around the world, I didn’t truly feel a strong connection and individual sense of American pride like many others said they experienced.

Even now, ten years after the event, I feel like I somehow missed out on a significant time in our history and find myself wondering how my time abroad during 9/11 shaped my cultural identity. In a way, my interaction with South Indian culture was like re-learning how to live – how to eat, how to dress, how to communicate, even how to use the bathroom, was different than how I’d understood it before I arrived on Indian soil. Pair that with being thrown into a post-9/11 world filled with fear of the “other” and pro-American sentiments left me feeling confused, curious, and struggling to find a culture where I felt I truly belonged. However, I’ve realized that the experiences and environments that I’ve intentionally (or unintentionally) placed myself in have had a significant impact on my worldview, perspectives, and the way I’ve shaped my future. Despite the questions and internal arguments I’ve had as a result of this experience, I wouldn’t want my journey to be any other way.

Amanda Scheerbaum is a Residence Coordinator at Rochester Institute of Technology.